


Something About Us

by Feileacan



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Collars, Dirty Talk, Fluff and Smut, Getting Together, Leashes, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Praise Kink, Puppy Play, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-18
Updated: 2019-07-18
Packaged: 2020-06-30 10:48:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19851586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Feileacan/pseuds/Feileacan
Summary: Tyler and Sasha go to Mexico for bye week. Sasha makes some unexpected discoveries about Tyler that lead in surprising (and good) directions.





	Something About Us

**Author's Note:**

> This fic takes place during the 2017-2018 season. I haven't quite been writing it for that long, but it sure feels like it.
> 
> The title is taken from the Daft Punk song, because it's the one I listened to the most when I was writing this.

Cabo is on the very tip of Baja. It's beautiful, even balmier and warmer than Dallas in the winter. Tyler assures him it is still winter, that they're still in the northern hemisphere, but Sasha isn't sure he buys it. There are things he misses about Russia, but the bitter cold and freezing rain of the long winter in Moscow aren't among them. He'd been spoiled in Nashville, and though he'd gotten used to snow again in Montreal, Dallas is fairly ideal when the weather holds a pattern for longer than a couple days.

Here, at least, the temperature is steady, with no sudden dips toward freezing or odd spikes toward shorts and T-shirt weather in the middle of January. The locals on the team's staff laugh at him when he complains about the weather, slow Texas smiles and slow Texas drawl telling him to _wait ten minutes, it'll change_. Sasha much prefers constancy.

His idea of a beach vacation is more lounging on the beach than doing anything productive, but he lets Tyler wheedle him into deep-sea fishing for the first couple days, on the vast expanse of ocean in an alarmingly small boat, drinking beer and sneaking looks at Tyler's arms when he casts a line. By the third day, though, he's ready to mutiny.

"Is vacation," he says plaintatively, as Tyler shakes him awake at the crack of dawn to go catch the boat. "My vacation, I like to sit and relax. You know how, yes?"

Tyler is a grown man, and Sasha still isn't surprised when he starts pouting, flashing Sasha puppy eyes underneath the mess of curls sticking out from his backward snapback.

"Fishing is relaxing," Tyler says, trying his best to sound convincing.

"Is too early to wake up on vacation," Sasha grumbles, pulling the blankets up further.

"Whatever, man, if I left it up to you we'd have the most boring bye week ever. If I didn't make you I don't think you'd leave a lounge chair."

"Where is problem with that? Go fishing, I'll be here."

Tyler does. Sasha, despite himself, misses his company while he's gone. Lounging on the beach is less fun without someone to talk to, and by the time Tyler comes back smelling like ocean spray and fish, Sasha is ready to go do something.

"We should go out," Tyler says, after showering off the fish smell. Sasha is trying very hard to keep his eyes on Tyler's face and not the way his towel is slipping low on his hips. "You've gotten boring, maybe we should get you laid."

"Maybe should get _you_ laid, burn off some energy," Sasha tells him, and Tyler laughs.

He still lets Tyler gripe about his outfit choices—"Come on, Radu, do you own anything that isn't jeans and a white T-shirt?"—and drag him out to a club, the kind where the music is so loud Sasha can feel his eardrums throbbing in his skull. He's watching Tyler dance from the sticky little table he grabbed near the wall, drinking beer with lime because he isn't ready for a tequila hangover. Tyler is drinking mojitos, his latest sweating condensation and filling with water from the melting ice while Tyler has his hands on some brunette's hips, swaying with her to the heavy rolling beat of the music.

His eyes wander, slipping away from the way Tyler's shoulders fill out his T-shirt. Sasha's Spanish is limited to _por favor_ and _gracias_ , which has gotten him by passably in a place like this where tourists almost outnumber the natives. The club's decorations are unintelligable, but at least give him something to look at while Tyler is working the crowd.

Except, when he looks back, Tyler is nowhere to be seen.

Sasha usually wouldn't be concerned. When they're out with the team, it's not uncommon for one of the guys to slip off with a hookup, and Tyler is one of those guys more often than not. But Tyler also isn't the kind of guy to leave his friend cooling his heels alone in a club while he gets blown in the bathroom. That, coupled with the somewhat dire warnings he'd gotten from Spezz before they left about tourists getting kidnapped for ransom, makes Sasha groan and heave himself up from his chair to go looking for his errant teammate.

This place isn't his scene. Most of the places the team goes aren't, for that matter, but it's easier when Sasha has some of the married guys to talk to, children always a safe topic. Sasha weaves through the crowd, his body language closed off enough to prevent anyone from trying to grind on him, scanning for Tyler's snapback, branded with his own logo of course, because he doesn't know the meaning of the words 'subtle' or 'incognito.'

He finds Tyler leaning against the bar and making conversation with the brunette he'd been dancing with. It doesn't look like the conversation is very successful, because the woman will rattle off something rapid that leaves Tyler blinking and blank-faced, and he'll respond with something that leaves her in a similar state. It's a language barrier if Sasha has ever seen one, and he's seen a lot of it.

The woman excuses herself before too much longer, leaving Tyler at the bar after having struck out. Sasha, who wouldn't cockblock a teammate no matter how bored or irritated about being in the club he is, takes it as his cue to walk over.

He slings an arm around Tyler's shoulders and feels him jump, grinning unrepentantly at him when Tyler slants him an accusing look. He leans in to get his mouth close enough to Tyler's ear so Tyler can hear him.

"Lost you in the crowd," he shouts. "Always wandering off, Seggo. Maybe should put you on a leash so I can keep track of you. Need a tag says 'Return to Dallas Stars if lost.'"

It's a chirp. It's a _harmless_ chirp, given how many times the team has teased Tyler about being the human embodiment of a labrador retriever, this being speculated as the reason why he owns three of them. Kindred spirits, and all. But Sasha is close enough to feel Tyler's shoulders knot up under his arm, to feel the way his chest expands on a sudden inhale. He's close enough, looking into Tyler's face, to see his eyes dilate and his throat bob as he swallows.

Tyler forces a laugh, but it's so obviously fake that he lets it die in his mouth, and they're left staring at each other, a weird moment of intensity and anticipation stretching out between them.

Sasha could shrug it off with another joke. He could just shake Tyler by the shoulder and grin at him like he does when he knows he's landed a good chirp, let it lie, and never touch it again. That would be the safe choice, the responsible choice, the one that he should make as a professional who well knows the risks of entangling his personal life with his job.

But they're in Mexico, not Dallas, and Sasha has had enough beers that his tongue feels loose and irresponsible in his mouth. He's been trying not to stare at Tyler for a good half of the season, at this point, aware of what it could look like if he doesn't keep his eyes to himself. There's a slow thrill rolling through him at the realization he may not have to worry about what it looks like.

"Ready to go?" he asks, and thinks that there should be no mistaking what he's actually saying.

Tyler seems frozen again, his dark eyes on Sasha, tracking over his face like he's expecting to see something else there besides what Sasha is giving him.

"Seggo," he says, leaning in to bump his forehead on the side of Tyler's. "Is all okay. Come back with me."

Tyler's breath wooshes out of his lungs, and his shoulders sag under Sasha's arm. He doesn't say anything, but he nods, and that's good enough. It's good enough that they're getting out of here, where they can have a real conversation about this somewhere better suited to privacy.

They catch a cab back to their resort, and don't say anything on the way. Sasha spends the ride scrolling through Instagram and checking the team's text thread to see if anything interesting happened while he was trying not to be jealous of Tyler dancing.

He had been, he knows. He's been jealous of the people who find themselves on the receiving end of Tyler's easy affection for months now, and has been shoving that ruthlessly down because sleeping with a teammate has never been an option. Only now they're a thousand miles from home and there's an elephant in the backseat of the car, its weight pressing down on the two of them no matter how much Sasha tries to lose himself in mindless social media.

They have a suite at the resort, two rooms and a common room. Tyler gravitates toward the doorway of his room and then starts to pace, idly, like he can't contain his movements or his restless energy. He's darting little looks at Sasha like he's torn between curious and terrified.

If Sasha were a more cautious man, he would disappear into his own room and let it be, let them both sleep off the alcohol and wake up more sober in the morning. But Sasha has never really known the meaning of caution, anyway.

"So," he says, flopping down on the couch and propping his feet up on the coffee table. He grins at Tyler's pinched mouth—he's the only guy Sasha knows who gives a shit about feet on the furniture, but Tyler can get over himself because it's not his table—and continues. "Got a little bit of a kink, da?"

Tyler flushes. Sasha watches it rise with appreciation, pink over the bridge of his nose traveling to his cheeks and up to his forehead. He drops embarrassed eyes to the floor, then lifts them to look at Sasha through the messy stray curls falling on his forehead, and fuck, he looks too good like that. It's like a floodgate has opened now that there's the possibility of mutual interest, and all the things Sasha has tried not to fantasize about with his liney are bubbling up like a pornographic montage in the back of his mind.

"It's not like that," Tyler says finally. At least he isn't mumbling like a shy teenager, but Sasha can tell it's a struggle for him to get this out. "I mean, I don't do the whole whips and chains and shit, right?"

"Me either," Sasha says, because causing someone pain has never interested him. He gets enough of that on the ice. "Doesn't mean you can't be kinky. Was just chirping, but I think maybe, an idea you liked."

Tyler takes his snapback off and scrubs his hand through his hair, leaving it off to turn it over in his hands.

"I didn't know you were into guys," he says finally.

"Obviously, it's not something I tell people." Sasha's voice is dry. Tyler knows the score, too.

"I mean, yeah, obviously. I can't complain about you not telling me when I didn't tell you. Hard to tell who's safe, right?" Tyler looks up at him then, and the blush has faded in favor of a sincere relief. Sasha knows how he feels. It's been years since he had someone he could talk about this with.

"Nobody on team knows?"

"Jamie. I figured, with everything that happened in Boston, I wanted at least someone with the front office's ear to know what was up, just in case. But he's the only one." 

"Nobody knows," Sasha says, though he feels like he's stating the obvious. "Except my ex-wife, she knows, is why we divorced. She wouldn't tell, though, is not that kind of woman. Plus, it would be too hard on Makar, he wouldn't understand what people say about his papa."

Tyler nods. It's a reality, it's just the way it is. But the tension between them hasn't dissipated with their mutual confessions, which confirms for Sasha that wasn't what it was about. Tyler doesn't press forward, though. Sasha is reminded of how many years he has on Tyler, though it usually doesn't make a difference. The six-year gap has given him more time to become settled in his own skin, is all. Tyler looks settled, to people who don't know him well. He oozes easy confidence and pulls people to him with his bashful smile. It's just that most people don't realize how much Tyler surrounds himself with people because he needs it, because he's lonely and soaks up that attention in place of something else he's been keeping himself from having.

"You do it before?" Sasha asks finally, getting them back on track of the conversation he wants to have. "What I said in the club."

"I—yeah. But like I said, it's not what you probably think it is. I don't..." Tyler trails off again, turning bright red. He licks his lower lip and Sasha's eyes are drawn to it like a magnet before moving up to Tyler's again, and knows Tyler saw him look. He doesn't try to hide it, no reason to obfuscate his interest now that they have their cards on the table.

He's never known Tyler to be shy about sex. He brags as much as any other guy in the room about his hookups, and can be shameless about the pornographic detail. It's been one of the things that's been driving Sasha insane, listening to Tyler expound on the virtues of what his tongue can do while taping up his socks. This, then, is unusual enough that he must have a good reason for shying away. Someone chirped him about it at a bad time, probably, or he had someone react badly when he asked for it.

"Seggo. You can say. You think I'm making fun of you for what you like in bed? Never." He tries to keep his tone gentle and coaxing, but he can't resist adding, "I want to know what you like."

"Yeah?" Tyler asks, his voice a little hoarse. "Why's that?"

He knows the answer to that question, he has to, but Sasha lets him get away with it because sometimes it really is important to hear these things said out loud.

"Want to know so I can give it to you," he says, low and inviting just like he had in the club. "You should tell me."

Tyler takes a couple steps forward. Sasha keeps his posture loose and unthreatening, his hands clasped together between his knees. He senses that this needs to be handled gently.

"I just want to be good," Tyler says in a rush, then blows out a breath at the end of it. His eyes drop from Sasha's to the carpet again. "All the pressure, especially having the A this year... sometimes I just don't want to think about that stuff. Simple instructions, simple rules. Kind of being less than a person for a little while."

"Less than a person like how?" Sasha presses. "Like pretty thing to look at? Or like slave maybe?"

Tyler winces and shakes his head, and Sasha is a little relieved. Not that he would be opposed, if what Tyler was into was being tied up to be put on display, but he's not a fan of playing the domineering master, and he's glad he missed the mark on this one.

"Less than a person like." Tyler's voice falls, nearly to a whisper. "Like a dog."

Now Sasha understands why he was so embarrassed to say so. There are a thousand ways a crueler person could use that to make fun of him, or degrade him, but Tyler doesn't want to be humiliated or taken down a peg. He wants to have the simplicity and the care of it, probably the way Sasha has seen him dote on his own dogs.

"Feels like I should have guessed, way you beg for attention all the time." It's teasing but kind, and he's rewarded with Tyler looking up at him and giving him a small, almost shy smile. "You want to try a little, now?"

"Like..." Tyler trails off, his tongue coming out to wet his lips again. He looks a little startled, and doesn't seem to have been expecting that right away. Sasha, who has been forcing his eyes away from Tyler for months, doesn't want to wait any longer.

"You want to be good boy for me?" Sasha asks, clarifying, and watches Tyler suck his lip into his mouth and bite down, white teeth on the plush, pink skin.

He steps closer, foot by hesitant foot, until he's within touching distance. Sasha reaches out and puts his hand on Tyler's hip, slipping his thumb underneath the edge of Tyler's shirt to brush along the curve of his hipbone.

"You like wearing clothes or no, when doing this?"

"No," Tyler says softly, but he doesn't make any move to start getting undressed. He wasn't lying about wanting instruction. Sasha can work with that.

"Take hat off." Sasha can see that it's a little unexpected, but Tyler doesn't hesitate with what he's been told. He tosses the hat on the coffee table behind him. "Shoes and socks, now. Shirt next."

He's building up an atmosphere, an expectation. He isn't going to ask Tyler to do anything difficult for him, because that's not what Tyler wants—and frankly, it isn't what Sasha wants. The wariness and hesitation is beginning to fade from the way Tyler moves, now. He pulls his shirt over his head and Sasha can't resist. He's been staring at these abs for too long not to touch.

Tyler's breath hisses through his teeth when Sasha's lips touch his stomach, kissing over the cut of his muscles as he squeezes the hand on Tyler's hip reassuringly. Tyler doesn't touch, his hands balled by his sides. Sasha doesn't know if he's feeling overwhelmed or thinks he isn't supposed to, but it's okay if he wants to wait for Sasha to tell him to, for now.

"Good boy," he says, looking up at Tyler as he says it.

Tyler looks like he's never heard anything as good in his life. His eyes flutter, his lips part, and the balls of his fists loosen. He doesn't say anything in return, just breathes in short little gasps when Sasha resumes his work, mapping out Tyler's skin with his lips.

"Pants and underwear, now."

Tyler's fingers are trembling a little when he starts to undo the button of his jeans. Sasha settles his own hands over them, waits for Tyler to look up and meet his eyes. It should probably surprise him, how desperate Tyler looks, how easy he was for it and how fast he's slid into doing what Sasha tells him. Sasha knows that Tyler isn't hard up for it, he has hookups fairly regularly so this—this must be something he just doesn't let himself have.

Sasha is familiar with the feeling.

"Look so pretty I can't keep my hands off you," Sasha tells him. "It was so hard, all those months, play fucking sexy hockey with you on my line, watch you change in the room and have to say 'can't look at that, Sasha, is not allowed.' Well."

He gives Tyler a slow, dirty grin and puts his mouth on the spot where Tyler's hip disappears under the waistband of his jeans. It isn't just a gentle kiss this time, but a bite with suction, working a red mark to the surface of Tyler's pale skin. Tyler groans deep in his throat and clutches at Sasha's hands, the task of getting his pants off forgotten while Sasha works. When Sasha finally pulls away, there's an unmistakeable mark in the shape of his mouth.

"Well, now I can look. I can touch, too, and I _want_. Show me the rest, yes?"

Tyler's hands move again. He isn't trembling now, like Sasha proving that he's here because he wants Tyler is all that was needed. Sasha wonders how many people Tyler has been with have wanted Tyler Seguin of the Dallas Stars, and not Tyler for who he is. He skims out of his jeans and boxer briefs and stands naked in front of Sasha.

"Beautiful," Sasha says appreciatively, looking him over slow, the way he's never gotten to do in the locker room. "Good boy."

Tyler makes another noise this time, a little whine that _sounds_ like a dog asking for attention. He's looking at Sasha with wide, dark eyes, like he's trying to desperately tell Sasha what he wants but it keeps getting stuck behind his teeth. Sasha doesn't miss his dick's reaction to the praise, either, which is to fill out between his legs, slowly rising as Sasha looks at him.

"Down here," Sasha says, shifting his knees apart. Tyler goes down to the floor quicker than Sasha expected, and Sasha winces in sympathy when his knees hit the carpet. He grabs one of the fancy throw pillows on the couch and nudges Tyler with his foot until he lifts up enough for Sasha to tuck it under his knees.

"You have to be good to these, take care," he says, stroking his thumb over Tyler's knee, sliding his hand up Tyler's thigh. Tyler lists toward him and Sasha lets him, his other hand sliding up to cup the back of Tyler's neck and pull him down until his cheek is resting on Sasha's thigh.

It's a lot quicker than Sasha thought it would be, how fast Tyler goes from tense to boneless under his hand. Sasha strokes his fingers through Tyler's hair, petting slowly, letting the pad of his thumb brush over the curve of Tyler's ear or the fine hairs at the nape of his neck.

Tyler seems to have lost all embarassment or concern with how he looks, or maybe he's just too far gone. His eyes are closed and his mouth open, rubbing his face against the rough material of Sasha's jeans. Sasha doesn't confine himself just to Tyler's hair, letting his hands stray over any part of Tyler he can reach from where he's sitting. Tyler presses into the touch, scooting closer until he's half-laying in Sasha's lap, his arms draped around Sasha's hips.

"Such a good boy," Sasha murmurs. He's scratching over Tyler's scalp exactly like he would to one of Tyler's dogs, his other hand stroking down Tyler's spine. Tyler's breathing is deep and slow, like he's asleep, but the way he keeps pushing his face against Sasha's thigh and shuddering under the touches from Sasha's hands proves that he's not.

"I like this," he adds, tugging a little at the messy curls between his fingers. Tyler makes a noise in the back of his throat, half-questioning. "Look so pretty being good for me. So perfect."

Tyler lets out a heavy breath, trying to squirm even closer. He's not going to manage that, just because of the laws of phsyics, but he tries anyway. The hand Sasha is running through his hair slides down to the back of his neck and he squeezes.

"Shh, settle down," he murmurs, and Tyler does, relaxing into a near-puddle again. He blinks hazily up at Sasha, only one eye visible with the other half of his face mashed into Sasha's thigh. "Now I'm thinking, you definitely need collar and leash, easier to tell you where I want you."

Tyler moans out loud at that, his hips jerking into empty air. Sasha is so hard in his jeans it hurts, his dick pressing against the inseam. With Tyler hunched over his lap, Sasha can't see if he's in a similar state, but he's flushed so red that Sasha would be shocked if he wasn't.

They stay there like that in the quiet for some time, Sasha's hands moving over Tyler's skin. He lets his fingers trace the edges of the tattoos on Tyler's arms, slides his callused thumb up Tyler's spine until he can brush it over the small moles that scatter his skin. Tyler doesn't move except to press his face closer. They're both startled out of the slow, meditative state they've built when his cheek presses down against the head of Sasha's dick, trapped in his jeans.

Tyler's breath hisses in through his teeth, abrupt, and then he purposefully rubs his face on the bulge, turning his head to press his lips against the denim. Sasha's fingers dig into the skin of his shoulder before he forces himself to ease up, loosening his grip.

"You want?" he asks, his voice a rough rasp in the back of his throat. He wants, but Tyler is the one in a precarious position here. It's all moved a little fast, and Sasha feels like he should pump the brakes, at least a little.

Tyler doesn't answer in words. Instead he opens his mouth and licks, that fucking tongue curling around the curve of Sasha through his pants. He mouths at it, sloppily, looking up at Sasha through the fringe of his hair.

Sasha has to tug Tyler up by the grip on the back of his neck, and Tyler goes easy, his eyes nearly glazed over as he looks up at Sasha, lips parted. Sasha pulls the zipper of his jeans down and shifts his hips until he can tug them off over his thighs. He rubs his cock with the palm of his hand, pressing it back against his stomach, and watches as Tyler's eyes snap to it, his mouth parting. He looks hungry. 

It would be so easy to pull him down and slip his cock between those pink lips, but Tyler doesn't seem to be able to manage words right now, and that's not the kind of thing you go for without asking. So instead he gets his hand on himself, stroking slow, just enough to take the edge off.

"No," Sasha says, when Tyler starts to lean forward, and Tyler freezes immediately. He looks up at Sasha like he thinks he's been caught out, and a tremor starts in his thighs. Sasha leans down, pausing the movements of his hand, and rests his forehead against Tyler's. "Good boy, but no. Tonight, I think I want your pretty face a mess."

The huff of breath Tyler lets out sounds like it's punched out of him. When Sasha sits back up, Tyler's eyes are on his hand, moving slowly over his cock.

He's done scenes with people before, some light kink depending on what his current hookup was into, but without the intimacy and trust that comes with actually knowing the person you're about to jump into bed with, it's more difficult for Sasha to let himself take this kind of control. He feels that he needs to be careful, move slow and not push too far. He has Tyler in the palm of his hand, right now, out of his head and blinking up at Sasha with those big, dark eyes, and it would be so easy for Sasha to push, to take more than what was on offer. Tyler would probably let him, too, the way he seems like he craves every touch of Sasha's hand.

Which is why Sasha keeps stroking himself, instead of letting Tyler suck him off. That, and a deep, visceral part of him wants to mark Tyler up. He draws it out, moving his hand slowly from the base of his cock up to the tip, foreskin sliding easily. Tyler's eyes are fixed on him, his lips parted on soft, rapid breaths.

Sasha brushes his thumb over the head of his dick, over the slit, and lets his hips roll into his hand. The sound Tyler makes this time is a needy whine, and Sasha takes some pity on him, letting go of his cock for the moment to brush his thumb over Tyler's parted lips. His tongue curls around it immediately, leaning foward to close his lips around it and suck, and Sasha presses his thumb down on Tyler's tongue, pinning it against his mouth. Tyler's cheeks hollow and he stares right up at Sasha, as if he's pleading without words.

"Shh, be good boy for me," Sasha says, pulling his thumb free. He turns his hand palm-up. "Lick."

Tyler sets to work with enthusiasm, licking sloppily and eagerly at the palm and fingers of Sasha's hand. It makes his dick jerk, an ache starting at the base of his balls. Usually it takes him longer to get to this point, but Tyler looks so fucking hot, on his knees for Sasha, quiet and pliant in a way Sasha has never seen him.

It makes him greedy to know what else he could have, what more he could coax out of Tyler like this, what sounds, how he would look when he comes. Sasha plans to see that last one tonight, but he's starting to realize that a quick hookup isn't going to be enough for him, and he hopes Tyler feels the same way. He wants more.

Tyler is sucking Sasha's fingers into his mouth when Sasha finally pulls his hand away, leaning forward like he's trying to follow. He catches himself before he faceplants into Sasha's lap again, his body going tense like he remembers he isn't supposed to.

"Good boy," Sasha reassures him. His hand is wet from Tyler's tongue as he begins to stroke himself again, his head falling back against the couch for a moment at how good it feels. He slides his other hand back into Tyler's hair, stroking it away from his forehead. He lets his eyes linger on Tyler's shoulders, his bare chest, his thighs. His cock, hard and red between his legs. Tyler's hands rest on his thighs, not tense and curled into fists but relaxed, like he's happy to be exactly where Sasha wants him.

It's a gorgeous image, one Sasha never thought he would get to see, and he savors it now, speeding up his hand just enough to take a little of the edge off. There's no sound in the room except for their breathing and the filthy sound of Sasha jerking off, and it feels like there's nothing else but them, like this.

Tyler's eyes flick up from the movement of Sasha's hand to his face and stick there, the two of them staring at each other as Sasha tips closer and closer to orgasm, his breath coming faster to match. Tyler takes a breath and opens his mouth, letting his tongue fall out over his lower lip, and Sasha breathes out a rough curse. He squeezes his hand around the base of his dick, stroking all the way up to the head, tight around the crown, and that does it. He scoots forward to the edge of the couch and tugs Tyler just a little closer, so that when he starts to come it hits him squarely over those pink lips and that wet tongue, before spurting over his cheeks and dripping into his beard.

"Fuck," Sasha says, his hand in Tyler's hair sliding down until he has his fingers under Tyler's chin, tipping his head back so he can see better, admire the way Tyler looks with come on his face and wide, dark eyes, still panting through his open mouth. "Such a pretty mess."

Tyler moans, his hips jerking, like he's trying to rub against something but has nothing for friction. Sasha swipes his thumb through a sticky trail of come on Tyler's cheek and presses it against his tongue—Tyler doesn't hesitate, sucking it clean and licking to chase the taste. He's eager for it, leaving his mouth open when Sasha pulls his thumb away.

Sasha slides his leg between Tyler's thighs. He still has his jeans on, and rough denim probably isn't the best feeling thing to grind against, but Tyler doesn't seem to care, straddling Sasha's shin and rolling his hips against it like he can't think of anything he'd rather do. He looks a mess, and Sasha gathers up another bit of come from along his scruffy jawline, pushing fingers into Tyler's mouth to suck clean.

"You come like this," Sasha tells him, and watches Tyler's eyes slip shut, his forehead wrinkled in concentration, as he starts to really put his hips into it, the muscles in his thighs and back rippling as he moves. It should look undignified, but Tyler moves sinuously, rubbing the hard line of his dick against Sasha's shin as Sasha gently cleans up the mess on his face and slides his fingers into Tyler's mouth. 

He can tell when Tyler is getting close because he's breathing hard, like he's just come off a double shift, and the movement of his hips starts to get erratic, less of a slow, sensual grind. It's more desperate now, as Tyler sucks the last of the come from Sasha's fingers and then turns his face into Sasha's palm, his lips against the skin.

"So good, good puppy," Sasha says, stroking his thumb over Tyler's cheekbone. Tyler's breath hitches in and he shudders all over. Sasha can feel his cock jerking, and when he looks down, Tyler is coming, spilling over Sasha's jeans. Sasha tears his eyes away to look back at Tyler's face. There's nothing but peace there, the lines of his forehead smoothed and his eyes closed gently, like he might curl up and fall asleep at Sasha's feet.

He keeps petting Tyler as he comes down, combing his fingers through Tyler's hair and scratching gently, like he had when they first started this. Tyler slumps down into his lap again, his head on Sasha's bare thigh, breath puffing over the skin.

The moment doesn't fade when Tyler finally takes a long, shuddery breath and sits up. He looks a little dazed, like he's been broken open, and Sasha waits for him to speak.

"Goddamn," is what he finally says, his cheeks going a little pink. "Where the hell did you learn how to do that?"

"Sex," Sasha says bluntly, and grins at the face Tyler makes at him. Sometimes it feels like the North Americans think that nobody from Europe could possibly know about things, like they invented everything. The Americans are the worst, but the Canadians have their own brand of it, and it amuses Sasha when he's able to surprise their expectations.

"You're fucking good at it," is what Tyler says next. "I haven't... it's been a long time, you know?"

"I could tell." He keeps his tone teasing, remembering how sensitive Tyler had been even talking about it. "Was good for you?"

"Was it _good?_ " Tyler asks, incredulous. "It was fucking amazing. We've been missing out on this for half the season? What the fuck?"

Sasha laughs, helplessly, because it's just like Tyler to have all his worries laid to rest with success. The sex was good, so why wouldn't they do it again?

"What's funny?" Tyler asks, still naked and sitting back on his heels, looking up at Sasha, and if that isn't a mental image that Sasha will have stamped on his brain forever, he doesn't know what is.

"You," Sasha says, laughter winding down. "So easy, Seggo."

"What's the point of making things complicated?" Tyler asks, seeming honestly confused.

It's a good point. Still, they sit for a minute just looking at each other, like they aren't quite sure what to do now. It feels like there should be something else.

"I'm gonna..." Tyler starts to gather his clothes from where he'd dropped them, and Sasha realizes why this feels strange. He's not going to have Tyler do a walk of shame across the suite's living room to sleep in another bed after that.

Sasha gets up, pulling his pants back up but not bothering to button or zip them. They cling to his hips as he tugs Tyler up from where he's still kneeling, until they're face to face.

The kiss seems natural to Sasha, leaning in to catch Tyler's lips with his own, but Tyler still makes a little noise of surprise. Sasha winds an arm around his waist, splaying his hand out wide on Tyler's lower back to pull him in, and Tyler finally touches him, sliding his hands up Sasha's arms until his fingers are digging into Sasha's shoulders. Sasha chases the taste of his own come in Tyler's mouth, sliding their tongues together until Tyler is leaning against him like he can't stay up otherwise.

"So it's going to be like that," Tyler says, a little breathless, when they part. Sasha can't keep his eyes off Tyler's mouth.

"If you want, I pretend I don't like you and just want you for sex," Sasha says, his eyes crinkling up in a smile.

"No thanks," Tyler says, something that he probably intended to come out dry but instead sounds a little to sincere, a little too revealing. He does step away, but only to pick up his scattered clothes. He puts his snapback on his head and walks to Sasha's room naked except for the hat, which makes Sasha crack up at him all over again.

They're used to moving around each other in the dressing room, have gotten into a rhythm of tossing tape and water bottles and everything else back and forth at each other, to the point where ducking flying objects between their two stalls has become habit for the rest of the team. It shouldn't surprise Sasha, then, that they move around each other just as easily when they're getting ready for bed. Tyler washes his face, getting the last of the sticky come out of his beard and making faces at Sasha as he does, which only makes Sasha grin at him unrepentantly around his toothbrush.

Tyler waits for Sasha to climb into bed and takes the other side, rolling over and tucking himself against Sasha's body. He gropes for Sasha's arm and pulls it around his waist firmly, and Sasha smiles against the nape of his neck.

"So needy," he says, and kisses the tender skin.

"You like it," Tyler mumbles, half-asleep already, and Sasha feels like his chest is squeezing with affection.

It should have been something of a sea-change, a paradigm shift, something big and fundamental. Instead it's like a piece they were missing clicks into place. Sasha wakes up with Tyler in his arms, warm and solid. The sun is already up, in contrast to every other day when Tyler has woken him right at dawn.

"You miss fishing today," Sasha says, low in his ear. Tyler makes a sleepy sound, stirring, and Sasha gets to watch a smile spread over his face as he wakes.

"One day I'm going to get you to actually fish," he murmurs, still out of it. "Coffee?"

"Needy," Sasha tells him.

"You like it," Tyler says, an echo of last night. Sasha kisses him on the cheek and goes out into the main room for the coffee maker. It only takes Tyler a few more minutes to wander out of the bedroom, scratching at his stomach and yawning.

"You have plans for today, since lounging on beach not relaxing?" Sasha teases.

"I never said it wasn't relaxing, I just said fishing was." Tyler gets into his space, crowding him back against the counter and catching his lips in a kiss that tastes a little too much like morning breath to be sexy. He reaches behind Sasha for the room service menu and yawns again.

"I want bacon," Sasha tells him, and stares at the coffee maker, willing it to go faster. "Maybe I go run errand later."

"We could go together," Tyler says. "I should get stuff for my sisters and my mom while I'm here."

Sasha makes a face. "That's _shopping_. I didn't say shopping."

"What, you don't want me to come?" Tyler grabs two mugs from one of the cabinets and passes one to Sasha. "Is it a mystery errand? Ooh, are you buying me something?"

"Is surprise," Sasha grunts, filling up his mug. He wishes he hadn't said anything, or that Tyler hadn't asked to come, so that it could really be a surprise. But it doesn't matter—he may not even be able to find what he's looking for, what's been swirling around in his mind since last night. "TV and coffee first."

They spend the morning on the couch together, Tyler snug against Sasha's side. Sasha steals some of Tyler's bacon, even though he has his own. Tyler punches him in the thigh the first time he does it, the only retaliation he can manage without upsetting their plates onto the floor. The second time, he pouts outrageously.

"I'm the one who can't keep weight on, I need that bacon more than you do." He pushes his bottom lip out and flutters his eyelashes, and Sasha nearly spits out pieces of bacon laughing. 

"I'm going out, run an errand," Sasha tells him later, once they've polished off breakfast and Tyler looks like he's starting to get restless. "You should go sit on the beach a little while and enjoy sunshine."

"I've been enjoying the sunshine," Tyler says. "And I thought you hated shopping."

"I do hate shopping. This isn't shopping, this is errand. Shopping is following you around while you look at hundred things you won't buy, finally find one thing you will buy, then go to other store and do the same thing. Errand is, I know what I want, I'm going to buy it."

"You're like my sisters," Tyler complains. "How are you going to know what you want unless you look at everything to make sure you didn't miss something?"

"I'll be back," Sasha tells him firmly, and leans down to kiss him before he goes. It's still new, despite how comfortable it feels, and he gets lost in the feel of Tyler's lips and the slide of his tongue.

"Go run your mysterious errand," Tyler tells him when they break apart. "Are you going to tell me what it is?"

"You'll see," Sasha says, and gives him another quick peck on the lips before he leaves.

It is, thankfully, a tourist town. Also thankfully, Sasha has very little shame, and easily manages to find what he's looking for. The shop looks like any other shop of its kind, with bright red lingerie and scantily clad women in the windows, anything more risque and unacceptable to a broader audience kept inside.

The clerk greets him in Spanish, and Sasha gives her a small wave and a blank smile, the expression that says he doesn't understand a word. She leaves him alone to browse, and Sasha bypasses the shelves of DVDs and novelties to the back, where he'd gotten a glimpse of leather. The selection is small, which is unsurprising in what is clearly a shop geared to adventurous tourists who might wander in after a night of partying. If this continues, if they manage to settle into something that feels permanent after they finish with this push and pull of testing the waters to see how deep they can go, Sasha plans to order something custom. 

He picks up one of the collars from the shelf and turns it over in his hands, imagining what it would look like in victory green. Maybe that's a little too on the nose, but there's no point in denying how much the team, and hockey, mean to both of them. The leather in his hand feels sturdy, the stitching even. It's simple, which Sasha likes—the collars with studs or spikes look ridiculous to him. It's not as wide as some of the others, and Sasha thinks the narrower band will suit Tyler, who is wiry instead of broad.

There are leashes, too, and Sasha picks one that'll match. He winds it around his hand and tests how it bites into his palm when he tugs, happy with how supple the leather is. He doesn't need to be handling something that will give him blisters. There is a small amount of other gear on the shelf—hoods, tail plugs, muzzle gags. Sasha barely gives them a glance. He doesn't like the look of hoods or muzzles, and he feels like Tyler should have something softer-edged than the shiny PVC the tail plugs come in. If that's something he would even want.

On the way back, he stops by a street vendor and buys enough empanadas to feed them both. They've become a favorite of his, living in Dallas, reminding him just enough of piroshki to feel a little like home. The spices are different of course, and there's usually corn instead of potatoes, but it's close enough.

The suite is quiet when Sasha comes back, the TV shut off. The door to their little balcony looking out over the water is open, giving the room a muggy sort of ocean-air feel. Sasha sets the empanadas and his shopping down on the table and walks back to the bedroom in search of Tyler.

His instincts are right. Tyler is sprawled out over both sides of the king-size bed, the blankets predictably kicked down to the foot of the bed and one sheet tangled around his legs, sliding low on his hips. It leaves the smooth line of his back bare, and Sasha takes a moment in the doorway, looking his fill before he moves to settle on the mattress. He leans over, gently kissing at the side of Tyler's mouth, his cheek, his jaw.

"Mm," Tyler murmurs. He reaches up and sleepily grabs for Sasha's shirt, turning his face to try and catch Sasha's mouth with his own. Sasha lets himself indulge in languid, sloppy kisses as Tyler slowly wakes up, his eyes finally opening.

"I brought food," Sasha says.

"In a minute," Tyler answers, rolling onto his back. "I like where you're going with this."

Sasha likes where he's going with this, too. He kicks his shoes off and crawls further onto the bed, slinging a leg over Tyler's hips. It pins him to the mattress by the sheet, and lets Sasha settle on top of him.

Tyler doesn't stay placid or passive, the way he did last night. He reaches up for Sasha's arms, big hands wrapping around Sasha's triceps and pulling. Sasha folds down on his elbows, his mouth on Tyler's and his hands in Tyler's hair. He feels a little bit like a teenager again, kissing messily, hands sliding over whatever skin they can reach, soft noises swallowed up in each other's lips. It's been a long time since he's gotten to indulge in another person like this, learning their body.

He works his hands underneath Tyler, who helpfully lifts his hips so Sasha can get a big double handful of his ass. Tyler groans against his mouth, fingers digging into Sasha's shoulders, and grinds up against the weight of Sasha on top of him. Sasha squeezes with both hands, feeling his pulse beat harder the more Tyler gets into it.

"You shower?" he asks, because now he has ideas about what he wants to do. Tyler's mouth curves up in a flirtatious smirk.

"Sure did, bud. Why, you got something in mind?"

"Flip over," Sasha says, and lifts his weight off Tyler so he can. Tyler takes a breath instead of moving, like he's going to ask why, but Sasha will be the first to admit he's fairly single-minded when he has his focus set on something. He grunts and heaves and manages to turn Tyler over, the sheet tangling around his legs.

Tyler is laughing, but the laughter dies off into a slow, shuddering breath when Sasha yanks the sheet off. Tyler's ass isn't the best he's ever seen—maybe if Tyler didn't have such a problem keeping weight on, he'd have that telltale skater's body—but Sasha isn't here to give top ten ratings. He gets his hands on the cheeks of Tyler's ass again, and Tyler pushes back into his grip, wiggling like he's anticipating what's coming. Sasha slides his thumbs between Tyler's cheeks and grazes over his hole, grinning as he swears and pushes back more insistently.

"Don't be a tease, man, if you're gonna—"

The rest of the sentence trails off in a long, heartfelt groan as Sasha props himself up on his elbows and buries his face in Tyler's ass, tongue flat against his hole. Mindful of Tyler's impatient complaining, he doesn't spend much time on teasing. He plies his tongue like he's trying to push inside, using his thumbs to rub against the outside of his hole and stretch it open so he can get deeper. He's never been a particular fan of sucking dick, but he loves this; the feeling of Tyler trying to ride back against his face, the tremor in Tyler's thighs, the sound of his hands scrabbling for a grip on the sheets, the noises he makes.

Tyler is swearing, a little incoherent and a lot loud. Sasha is glad they're nowhere near anyone who would know who they were, because Tyler probably wouldn't be able to stay quiet unless Sasha gagged him with something, and Sasha is enjoying the pornographic soundtrack of moans and curses too much to stifle them.

He pulls back to breathe, spit running down his chin and into his beard. The insides of Tyler's asscheeks are an attractive pink from where his beard has been rubbing against them. He bites over the top of one of those patches and feels Tyler's whole body jerk underneath him.

"You want to come like this?" Sasha asks, pressing the tip of his thumb inside as Tyler moans into the pillow.

"You want me to _talk?_ " Tyler mumbles, and Sasha just laughs and bites him again before spreading him open and putting his tongue to work again. Tyler is loose enough that Sasha can press the tip inside, and that makes Tyler whine outright.

"Rads." He reaches back and gropes around until his fingers tangle in Sasha's hair and he pulls. "Wanna come on your dick, actually."

"Don't use hockey name in _bed_ ," Sasha says, put off. "Sasha. Please."

"You did it to me!" Tyler protests.

"After! After we were done!" Sasha smacks him on the ass, lightly. "You want I fuck you or not?"

Tyler rolls over. His face is flushed, his curls a wild mess against the pillow. He spreads his legs and stretches his arms up over his head and shoots Sasha a look, a look that probably would have been completely ridiculous if they weren't having sex.

"Sasha," he says, low-voiced and soft, and Sasha wasn't ready for how that would hit him in the gut and make him shiver. "Put your dick in me already."

Sasha barks out a laugh, the tender moment ruined. "You," he says, shaking his finger at Tyler with what's probably a too-fond smile on his face. "The worst."

"You like it," Tyler says, the same way he did when Sasha had accused him of being needy.

"Maybe a little. Still, think I've done enough work. Is your turn. You want my dick, get on it."

He scoots up the bed, propping himself up and waggling his eyebrows suggestively at Tyler, who shoves at his face like they're in the middle of a scrum and he's facewashing him on the ice.

" _You're_ the worst," he complains, but that doesn't stop him rolling out of the bed with a groan to go hunt for lube and condoms.

Sasha gets himself settled and watches Tyler's ass unashamedly as he bends over to rummage through his bag—it looks like he moved it from the other room while Sasha was out, which makes something warm bubble up in his chest.

A tube of lube and a condom land on Sasha's chest, and he pulls his eyes away from Tyler's ass to see him smirking, of course, as he crawls up the bed. Sasha has been with men who didn't want to kiss after Sasha went down on them, but Tyler isn't one of those men, biting greedily at his lips and pushing his tongue into Sasha's mouth. Sasha grabs his ass again, pulling him close so he can feel the hard line of Tyler's dick against his own, and rolls his hips up in a dirty grind.

"Hang on a second, damn," Tyler murmurs against his mouth. "I thought you wanted to fuck me."

"I thought you wanted I fuck you," Sasha says. "I'm not picky."

Still, he reaches down to grab the lube, only to have his hand slapped away. Tyler takes it from him and sits up, his mouth tipped up into another of his obnoxious smirks.

"It's my turn to do the work, remember?" he says, teasing, and pops open the cap to pour some on his fingers. Sasha can feel his eyes crinkling up in a return smile. His hands go to Tyler's hips again, thumbs tracing over the cut of his hipbones, while Tyler twists his hand behind himself.

It's a privilege to watch. Tyler is unashamed about putting himself on display, rolling his hips into his hand and making breathy little sounds as he opens himself up. He's biting his lip, making it swollen and pink, and Sasha wants to kiss him again but doesn't, because he also wants to watch how Tyler's eyelashes brush against his cheek when his eyes slip closed, how perfect the line of his throat looks when he tips his head back, how his lip pops out from between his teeth when he gasps.

"Should have known you'd be like this," Sasha says. "Showing off."

"You haven't seen showing off yet," Tyler shoots back. He's red from his cheeks down his throat to the top of his chest, panting. The muscles in his arm bunch and he moans suddenly, tossing his head back.

"Then show me." Sasha's voice is rough. He's a patient man, but his dick is starting to ache, and he has a feeling that if he doesn't say something Tyler will keep this up forever. 

He picks up the condom and tears it open, sitting up enough that he can reach around Tyler's hips where he's straddling Sasha's waist and roll it on. He can't resist sliding his fingers against Tyler's own, feeling where he's stretched open. Tyler jerks at the touch and makes a little punched-out noise like he wasn't expecting that.

"You don't play fair," Tyler says. He pulls his hand away and Sasha's fingertips sink into him so easy. He pushes, lost in how slick Tyler feels from the lube and how much give there is to his body, taking him inside so easy. He's hot and soft around Sasha's fingers, and if Sasha isn't careful he's going to come before he manages to get all the way inside.

He slides his fingers out and wraps his hand around the base of his cock, holding it steady while Tyler shifts back and lines it up. Sasha watches Tyler's face as he sinks down, open-mouthed, eyes squeezed shut and his head thrown back. It's a snug fit, but not too tight, and a perfectly easy slide.

Tyler's ass might not be the most shapely Sasha has ever seen, but his _thighs_ are something he could write poetry about. Especially when they flex to lift Tyler up and slowly sink back down, the bulge of muscle hard under his skin. Sasha puts his hands there to feel the flex as Tyler moves.

The air in the room smells like sex and the ocean, golden light streaming in the windows. They're both sweating, built for colder climates, but it only helps the way their bodies slide together, Tyler riding his cock and Sasha touching every part of Tyler he can reach. He looks so beautiful above Sasha, and Sasha would tell him so, only he still doesn't know what Tyler wants this to be and he doesn't want to scare him away.

So he tells him in Russian, murmuring soft nothings about how Sasha wants to kiss every inch of his skin, how lucky he is to get to see Tyler like this. Tyler can't understand a word but clearly either the language or the tone is working for him, because he reaches for his own dick only for Sasha to bat his hand away and touch him, stroking slowly because he doesn't want this to end yet. He isn't sure he wants it to end ever.

"Come on," Tyler says, sinking down completely and grinding with a filthy little roll of his hips that pushes his dick into Sasha's hand. "Come on, don't tease."

"Not teasing," Sasha tells him. "Keep going, I'll get you there."

Sasha keeps his grip loose and the movement of his hand slow, drawing it out. He's fascinated by how much different Tyler is like this than he was before. He's not submissive and certainly not passive. Once he figures out he's not going to make Sasha jerk him off faster, he starts to really put on a show, rising up on Sasha's cock until it's barely inside him and rocking down hard. He pushes his hand through his hair and looks down at Sasha with his lip between his teeth, and its such a porno move that Sasha almost ruins it by laughing, but that doesn't mean it isn't hot as hell. It's like he's using Sasha's dick for his own pleasure.

The thought makes Sasha plant his feet on the bed and snap his hips up to meet him the next time Tyler rocks down, punching a groan out of him and making his rhythm falter. Sasha tightens his hand and Tyler swears at him, like he's torn between both sensations and doesn't know which one he wants more. His curls are dripping sweat, now, landing in little drops on Sasha's chest. Tyler leans down to brace himself, one hand planted in the middle of Sasha's chest as he picks up the pace, panting. Sasha rests his free hand on Tyler's thigh, feeling the muscle tremor as Tyler gets tired.

"Come here." He cranes his neck, and Tyler indulges him, leaning down until they can kiss while Sasha uses the leverage from the bed to fuck him, short thrusts with the power of Sasha's lower body behind them. Tyler's dick is trapped between them now, but Sasha can still move his hand enough to make it good, if the way Tyler is panting into his mouth is any indication.

"Yeah, fuck. Gonna—"

That's all the warning Sasha gets before Tyler goes tense and trembling on top of him, coming all over their abs and Sasha's hand. Sasha grunts, shifting his grip to the back of Tyler's neck to hold him still while he drives into him, short and rapid, until he comes too. He wishes a little that they hadn't used a condom, wants to push his fingers back inside Tyler and feel the mess he's made of him. That idle wish doesn't diminish how good it feels to grind deep into Tyler's body and ride out his orgasm with Tyler blanketed on top of him, biting at his lips.

They stay in a sweaty heap as they both catch their breath. Tyler isn't exactly comfortable as a human blanket, a little too bony and a little too heavy, but Sasha can't get enough of the contact, skin against skin, and the feeling of Tyler's lips against his, lazily kissing as Sasha goes soft and slides out of him.

"I need another shower," Tyler complains, when he finally gets his breath back. "And you do too."

"You saying I smell bad?" Sasha asks, grinning at Tyler.

" _Ripe_ , dude. Come on, before the sheets start smelling like the locker room."

They forgot about the food while they were fucking and showering, so when they finally emerge from the bedroom, Sasha has to microwave the empanadas. It makes the crust chewy instead of flaky, but they're still delicious. Sasha eats half a dozen, and nearly fights Tyler over the last one before graciously giving it up after Tyler picks it up from the plate and licks it.

"My tongue been on your ass, you think I don't eat it because you licked it?" Sasha asks him, when he's done laughing until his sides hurt at Tyler acting like a nine-year-old.

"Made you laugh too hard to eat it, so I win," Tyler says around a mouthful of empanada. He crams the rest of it into his mouth before Sasha can change his mind and take it after all, and ends up looking like a chipmunk.

"I like you make me smile," Sasha tells him, which is maybe a little sappy and a little real for how this has been going, but it slips out without him meaning to.

"Yeah?" Tyler asks, swallowing the last of his food. He's got that sideways grin on, the one that looks like a cocky smirk, but his voice is soft and tentative.

"Yeah. I like lot of things about you, have for a while. Not just want you for sexy body." Sasha's hand darts out and pinches Tyler's nipple before he can react.

Tyler squawks and slaps at his hand, but the smile on his face has gone a little silly, and there's pink in his cheeks.

"There are a lot of things to like about you, too," he says, looking like he's trying to wipe the smile off his face so it'll come off as more sincere. "You're, I don't know how to say it. Steady, I guess. Settled. You know who you are and you don't give a fuck what anyone else thinks. I like that."

"Some people say makes me too much diva, bad for team." Sasha feels a little pensive, wondering what it says about him that what Tyler sees is that part of him.

"Some people are fucking idiots who shouldn't be allowed on Twitter." Tyler shrugs. "It isn't the only thing. It's not just me making you smile, it's the other way around a lot. You're so good with the kids—you know, Janny and Honks and Dickie."

"Dickie's your rookie," Sasha says, but he's looking down at the counter to try and hide the embarrassingly wide smile that stretched over his face.

"Can't believe they gave me a rookie," Tyler grumbles, but he sounds so pleased that Sasha isn't fooled.

"Anyway, is good practice for when Makar is that age, think he's immortal and smarter than everyone."

"I was never like that." Tyler's voice is dry and his grin is shameless, and Sasha laughs at him.

Tyler laughs, too, that stupid giggle he has that scrunches up his whole face, and before Sasha knows it he's just smiling softly at him, captivated. The moment he was expecting this morning comes now, the world shifting under his feet. Tyler wants him, too.

"I want this to be something," Sasha tells him, over the last dying bursts of Tyler's laughter. He says it before he can overthink it and keep himself from saying it.

"Yeah. Me too." Tyler reaches across the counter for his hand. Their fingers tangle together. "I mean, I haven't done this in a while, but I think I make a pretty good boyfriend."

"I haven't since divorce," Sasha admits. Hookups, sure, but not a relationship. "I think probably I'm pretty good too."

"Well, you're already buying me presents. Speaking of, do I get to know what it is?"

Sasha is surprised Tyler has even been able to keep his hands to himself. The nondescript black bag is sitting bundled on the counter next to the bag that contained their lunch. He pulls it over.

"Is only if you want," he says, hesitant suddenly. It's one thing to know Tyler is into the kink, and that he is too, but he's a little afraid they're both jumping in feet-first because it feels so novel.

He shakes off the nerves and pulls the collar out of the bag. The black leather looks so simple in his hands, and the hesitation mounts. Should he have gotten one of the more decorated options? When he was in the store, they hadn't looked like Tyler, but what if— 

"You bought me a collar?" Tyler's voice is hushed, and he sounds shocked. Sasha looks up to find him staring, color in his cheeks.

"I thought maybe you'd like." Sasha can't tear his eyes away from Tyler's face. He swallows, his throat moving with the motion, and his lips fall open. He looks absolutely arrested by the simple ring of leather in Sasha's hands.

"Will you—" Tyler's voice comes out raspy, and he clears his throat to try again. "Will you put it on?"

"You want now?" Sasha asks, surprised. "I can't for a little while. Sex, I mean."

"We don't have to," Tyler says, his voice soft. "I can. I don't know. You can watch TV and I can just... be there."

Sasha gets up from his stool at the counter and walks over to Tyler. He doesn't expect Tyler to slide off the stool and settle on his knees at Sasha's feet, but as he bends his head forward to offer his neck, Sasha finds his mouth has gone dry.

Sasha fumbles with the buckle on the collar, made overeager by how Tyler looks on his knees, patiently waiting. He slips it around Tyler's neck and feeds the tongue back through the buckle, tucking two fingers underneath it with a light tug to check the fit.

Tyler makes a sound, a bitten-off gasp, and Sasha moves his hand around to Tyler's chin, tipping his head back so he can see the black leather circling his throat. The D-ring in the front reminds him of the other part of the present, and he reaches over the counter to pull the leash out of the bag.

"Jesus." Tyler licks his lips. "Can I take my clothes off?"

"You ever have to ask me that, I'm very bad boyfriend," Sasha tells him seriously, though the smile crinkling his cheeks probably ruins the effect.

Tyler pulls his shirt over his head and wiggles out of his pants and underwear without getting up from his knees. He's only wearing Sasha's collar now, and he tips his head back with wide brown eyes fixed on the leash in Sasha's hand.

He clips it to the front of Tyler's collar and winds it around his hand until it goes taut. The second the collar pulls at Tyler's neck, he moans, shuffling forward on his knees in the direction of Sasha's tugging.

It's fucking hot. The dark leather stands out on Tyler's pale neck, and the slender band doesn't overpower the line of his throat. Sasha can't help but touch again, running his fingers over the place where the collar rests on Tyler's skin.

"Only missing one thing now," Sasha says, hooking his fingers in the front of the collar and giving it a little tug. "Just needs tag to say you're mine."

It's maybe a little much, a little fast, even if they have just had the relationship conversation, but Tyler doesn't seem to think so. He shudders all over, leaning into the pull of Sasha's hand on his collar like he couldn't possibly do anything else. Sasha thinks he could get addicted to the sight of Tyler on his knees like this.

He clears his throat, letting go of the pressure on Tyler's collar but keeping the leash firmly in hand. Tyler lists toward him a little, his forehead coming to rest on Sasha's thigh. He's never wished so profoundly he was a teenager again, so his dick would cooperate with the arousal the rest of him is feeling.

Tyler had said, though, that it didn't need to be about sex. Sasha switches the leash to his other hand to scrub his palm dry on his shorts, looking between the little kitchenette and the couch. The floors aren't carpeted, but he doesn't think it's too far, or that it'll be too hard on Tyler's knees as long as he gets Tyler up on the couch with him once they're over there.

" _Ko mne_ ," he says, tugging at Tyler's leash. "Is 'come' in Russian. I think maybe, best to say like this, keep this thing separate from everything else."

Tyler makes a considering noise in his throat, but he doesn't say anything. He was still speaking last night until they got further into things, but maybe the collar has more of an effect than Sasha thought it would.

When Sasha tugs the leash again, taking a step away from him, Tyler looks up at him through the fall of his curls, like he's trying to figure out exactly what Sasha wants. Sasha just holds his eyes, taking another step back, letting the leash unspool from his hand so he can keep it taut without yanking Tyler forward before he's ready to move.

Sasha clicks his tongue and says, " _Ryadom_. Is 'heel.'"

Tyler sucks in a breath, and Sasha thinks for a second it's too much, and he's going to protest. This is a lot more than they did last night, and maybe it is too much. 

Then Tyler puts his palms down on the floor and starts to crawl, the muscles in his arms and back shifting under his skin. Sasha's mouth goes dry, and he barely remembers to walk as well, his eyes so fixed on Tyler crawling beside him that he nearly trips over the arm of the couch. He catches himself and sinks down onto the cushion, patting the space on the couch beside him. Tyler looks between it and the space on the floor at Sasha's feet, chewing on his lip like he wants to protest, but in the end he climbs up onto the couch.

Sasha tugs at the leash, pulling Tyler closer until his head is resting in Sasha's lap. He picks up the remote from the coffee table and turns the TV on, taking Tyler at his word that Sasha should just relax with him for a while. As he's flipping through the channels idly, he pushes his fingers into Tyler's hair, still damp from the shower.

Tyler lets out a long, slow sigh, like the breath is winding out of him. His shoulders had been tense, Sasha only realizes as he relaxes. He wiggles on the couch, rolling away from the television until he's on his back, his legs slung over the arm. Sasha lets his eyes wander, still stroking his fingers through Tyler's hair, occasionally trailing them down over Tyler's cheek.

He brushes his thumb over Tyler's lip once, and just like he had last night, Tyler's tongue slides out to lick the tip of it. He doesn't try to capture it and suck, this time, but the contact still sends goosebumps prickling over Sasha's arms. He returns his hand to Tyler's hair. There's a cozy kind of air that's settled over the two of them, and Sasha likes it. He doesn't want to rush things along just yet.

"You're being good puppy," he murmurs, watching Tyler's eyes slip closed and his lips part. He's hungry for it, for praise and this kind of gentle control. "So good, so pretty. I'm lucky I have such good boy."

"Mm," Tyler hums, a wordless noise that's full of satisfaction. He pushes into Sasha's touch, his eyes still closed, breathing soft and regular. Sasha starts to scratch at his scalp and gets another noise out of him, a quiet moan.

"Yes, let me hear. Make such good noises, sound so nice." Sasha gets both of his hands in Tyler's hair, petting just like he would if Tyler really was a dog. His hair is going to look wild when they're done, and Sasha likes that thought. He wants to see Tyler disheveled and undone.

The next time his fingers brush over Tyler's lips, Tyler does catch them in his mouth, sucking on the tips. His eyes open and he looks up at Sasha like he's asking a question without actually asking. Sasha feels like the tips of his fingers are connected directly to his dick, and enough time has passed that his body is starting to think about getting hard.

"You want something for your mouth?" he asks, pushing with his fingers until Tyler has taken them all the way, his cheeks hollowed, his tongue sliding between them. "You do, I see. Good puppies get treats."

One-handed, he fumbles with the fly of his shorts, finally getting it undone enough to draw his cock out. Tyler is still sucking on his fingers, lost in it. He's getting hard—Sasha can see his cock starting to plump up where it lays against his thigh. Sasha, on the other hands, is still soft, because as hot as having naked Tyler in his lap is, he's on the other side of thirty now and that comes with some downsides.

"Here," he says, pulling his fingers away from Tyler's mouth. The way he strains after them for a sends another rush of arousal through him, but he just taps Tyler on the nose, teasingly. "Have something better for your mouth."

Tyler rolls over on the couch, immediately snuggling up closer to Sasha so he can get his mouth on Sasha's dick, warm and wet. Sasha lets out a contented groan, tangling his fingers in Tyler's hair again.

"Good, good." He pets Tyler as he works his tongue on Sasha's cock, trying to get him hard. "Shh, can go slow. No rush. Being so good for me, Tysha."

The diminutive slips out before he realizes he's said it. Tyler's tongue pauses mid-lick, and he makes a noise like a question in the back of his throat.

"Is for you," Sasha tells him, gathering Tyler's messy curls and trying to tuck them behind his ears, only to have them fall away again. The motion is soothing. "Is like Sasha, but for you. Not Russian, okay, but is close, is just for us. Yes?"

Tyler hums again, contentedly, an the vibrations travel along Sasha's dick. The feel of Tyler's mouth on him is exquisite, and finally working to get him hard. Sasha lets his head tip back against the back of the couch and just feels.

It's a slow, messy blowjob. Tyler doesn't seem to care that there's spit running down his chin, that he's drooling all over Sasha's balls. He swallows Sasha down like he's starving for it, and all Sasha has to do is keep his fingers moving in Tyler's hair.

"So good like this, Tysha. Next time, I keep you on your knees, get to see pretty face while you swallow my cock." Sasha slides his hand down to the back of Tyler's neck, pulling at the collar so Tyler can feel a little pressure on his throat. He moans around Sasha's cock, grinding his hips into the couch cushion.

Sasha comes before he does. Tyler draws his orgasm out slowly, swallowing it all down like it really is a treat he was desperate for. He keeps sucking, gently, until he's just holding Sasha's soft dick in his mouth. His hips are still moving, albeit barely, twitching against the couch like he wants to come but doesn't know if he's allowed.

The leash has fallen down onto the couch, forgotten while Sasha had his hands in Tyler's hair. He picks it up now, takes up the slack and tugs. Tyler lets Sasha's cock slip from between his lips and sits up, a dazed look in his eyes. He's flushed from his face all the way down his chest, and he's dripping, precome sliding down his dick as Sasha watches him pant for breath, his dark eyes fixed on Sasha like he's the only point in the universe worth knowing.

"Over here," Sasha says, pulling on the leash. Tyler follows the tug and climbs into Sasha's lap. His hands go to Sasha's shirt, fingers tangling in the fabric. He clings like he's desperate, his hips rocking, and buries his face in the side of Sasha's neck with a whine.

Sasha keeps the leash in one hand and wraps the other around Tyler's cock, stroking him fast and hard. Tyler writhes in his lap, panting against Sasha's skin, until he moans and his spine bows and he comes on Sasha's shirt.

There's a moment, when Tyler is breathing slowly into Sasha's neck and the TV is babbling in Spanish in the background, that Sasha thinks he could live inside forever. He starts to put his arms around Tyler, only to realize he still has the leash pulled taut, holding Tyler where he is.

Tyler stirs as soon as he lets it slacken.

"We don't have to be done," he slurs against Sasha's skin. "I can."

He stops. Sasha's other hand finds its way to Tyler's hip, then his ass, holding him close.

" _Myesto_. Is 'stay.' I think you good at that one." Sasha rests his cheek on Tyler's head, pulling against the leash just enough to keep a little bit of pressure on the collar. He feels Tyler sigh, the breath winding out of him. Sasha thinks he might fall asleep here.

"Thank you." Tyler swallows, his throat moving against Sasha's shoulder. His voice is getting stronger, almost like he's coming out of a trance. "I can't believe how much I like this sometimes. It's like, I don't know, everything in my head goes quiet. Do you ever feel like, kind of, the inside of your brain is too loud?"

"Yes." Sasha is familiar with the feeling. Those are the times when he does want to go out, be with the team, watch the rookies fail to hook up and the rest try to disappear stealthily before they can get chirped about it. Being around other people, living life, it's how Sasha centers himself. Best of all is when Makar is with him, and he can come home to his son.

What he feels when he sees the collar around Tyler's neck, or even like this, with Tyler curled up in his arms, is a very close second.

"Doing this, being like this for a little while—it shuts everything up. So thanks."

"No need to say thank you." Sasha strokes his hand along Tyler's spine, wanting to touch as much of him as possible. "I like it, I like I can see you this way, and nobody else can. My Tysha."

Tyler shivers a little, but Sasha feels his mouth curve into a grin. "I like that a lot."

"Then I'll say it always, all the time." Sasha squeezes Tyler's hip, kisses the top of his head.

Their bye week vacation in Mexico doesn't include much fishing, or shopping, or going out to bars after that. When they board the plane back from Cabo to Dallas, Sasha has the collar and leash packed at the bottom of his suitcase, and Tyler lets himself stand a little closer, a little longer, even when they're in public. Sasha leans into him. It's more than he could have asked for, and better than he could have hoped.

Tyler leans his head onto Sasha's shoulder on the plane, and he's asleep before long. Sasha wishes he could be wearing the collar like this, the leash in Sasha's hand. He thinks about black leather, and wonders what victory green will look like instead.

He's got time to find out.


End file.
